


like so many birds

by Aimee_Elisabeth



Series: what it means to be free [2]
Category: Brave (2012), Frozen (2013), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Coming of Age, F/M, Growing Up, Motorcycles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:29:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimee_Elisabeth/pseuds/Aimee_Elisabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She rolled her eyes, and then she snatched at the front of his jacket and pulled him closer, kissing him until he wasn’t quite sure which way was up, or where the ground was, and he may or may not have been flying among the stars and it was almost – almost – like being a dragon, feeling strong and daring and alive.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>cute drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The human body's a barometer...

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.

.

 

_the human body's a barometer..._

 

_._

_._

_._

 

She uncurled herself, her limbs unfolding like the wings of a bird, stretching back and up, long and graceful and smooth as water. She could hear the music rippling around her, settling in her bones, buzzing on her skin.

“You are a slow-burning candle,” Madam Ursula murmured. “Soft and gentle. I said _gentle_ , Merida. You’re too sharp. Calm down.”

 _Gentle_ , Merida thought, trying to capture an image of such a thing – her mother’s cool fingers on her forehead hot with fever – the wind washing over her face and stinging the tips of her ears in autumn – the green of rolling hills bathed in sunlight.

“Better,” Madam Ursula said, and Merida could hear the smile in her voice.

She curved and furled and gathered herself in, before bursting into flames – sharp and alive and free. This was her dance, the slow burning candle becoming a wild inferno – something small growing into something _big_.

Her hair was springing out of its confines as well, her mother’s decisive and deliberate up-do falling apart as she danced, pins flying everywhere as she spun.

Merida hardly noticed, too caught up in the beat, the _boom-boom-boom_ of the drums echoing in her heartbeat. She danced – faster and faster and faster.

The music climbed to a crescendo, the climax of the piece, and Merida was no longer herself – no longer confined to feet and fingers and such ephemeral things as a human body – she was _fire_ , she was _aflame_ , she was that bright shining light in a forest, destroying everything in its path including, eventually, itself.

She lay on the floor, artfully draped over her own self, breathing hard and eyes filled with stars and firelight. Somewhere in the distant reaches of her mind she could hear Madam Ursula applauding her solo.

“Well done, Merida,” her teacher helped her up, and offered her a water bottle. “You’ve performed excellently.”

“Thank you,” Merida grinned, gasping, and drank thirstily from the bottle.

“You know,” Madam Ursula began, her lips twitching up in a soft smile, “I had my doubts when you first began classes here with me. So many years ago, now… how old were you, then?”

“Six.”

“Six years old… so impatient,” Madam Ursula winked, and Merida blushed. “Temperamental. If someone had told me then that the wildfire girl I’d known then would become as wonderful a dancer as you have… I’m not sure I would have believed them. You’ve worked so hard, Merida. I’m proud of you.”

Merida beamed, though still too breathless for proper words.

“Your mother is waiting for you outside, clean up before you go, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Merida breathed, and dashed into the change rooms in order to mop her sweaty forehead and change into less-smelly clothes.

“How’d it go?” Her mother asked her later, when she jumped into the car.

“Good, Mum,” Merida told her. “Really good.”

“I’m glad,” Elinor smiled, and brushed some stray curls off her daughter’s forehead. “Oh, my wee darling girl. You are _so_ beautiful…”

“Mum,” Merida rolled her eyes, glad that her hair hid the reddening of her ears. But a mother always knows, and Elinor winked at her even as she began to drive away home, the city whirring by in a blur of concrete and strangers and bright neon lights, and Merida opened the window to breathe in the cool October air, mixed with the smoke of car exhaust and the sounds of people living their tangled lives.

“You still can’t tell me what you’re dancing?” Elinor wheedled.

“Can’t,” Merida grinned. “It’s a _surprise_ , Mum. It’s supposed to be secret.”

“Oh, fine then, be that way,” Elinor sniffed, but she was joking – they both knew it. “Keep your secrets. I’ll learn, one way or another.”

“There’s only a few weeks left ‘til the recital,” Merida reminded her, and Elinor rolled her eyes. “Be patient, Mum.”

“You’re starting to sound like _me_ ,” Elinor chortled, and Merida joined in.

Mother and daughter were much more alike than they had once believed.

“So…” Elinor glanced sidelong and sly at her daughter as they neared home. “Are there any _boys_ that you’d like to tell me about, if you’re so hush-hush about the performance? You can tell your old Mum, Merida. I won’t tell your father.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Merida gasped – ignoring the green eyes and crooked smile that had flashed into her head. “There are _no boys._ ”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“What about that boy you met last month, after _Robin Hood’s_ opening night? He was a bit of a cutie, wasn’t he?”

“Please, Mum, never say that again,” Merida groaned, dropping her head against the window. It didn’t stop her from remembering, though.

His name had been Hiccup – well, it was a nickname, really – and he had seemed sweet and awkward and genuine. He had a motorbike as well, so he couldn’t have been too much of a geek, but Merida was remembering the light in his eyes – she’d always had a thing for green eyes – and the crooked way he smiled at her, shy and sweet and so _gentle_ …

She’d wanted to ask him out – for coffee or something like that – she’d wanted to know more than his name and what he called his motorbike ( _Toothless_ , why _Toothless_?) and that he had green eyes and freckles on his nose.

She’d wanted to touch that scar below his lip, and find out what his dreams were, and how old he was, and what it might be like to run her fingers through his long dark hair. She’d wanted to snog him senseless, if she was going to throw it all out there – she’d wanted to see if his crooked smile would lend to crooked kissing.

She’d known him all of three minutes, and then her mum and her best friend – Ro Punzel – had called out her name, and pulled her away, and the boy with green eyes had disappeared into the night… and Merida would never know.


	2. ... measuring the density of angels...

. 

. 

.  

 

_the human body's a barometer  
measuring the density of angels..._

_  
_

_._

_._

_._

_  
_

He dreamed. He dreamed of a girl made of fire and light, dancing on a stage like she was more than just mere flesh and bone – like she was an angel fallen from the sky, all fire and air and curling red hair.

Then the girl made of fire became a girl made of ice, only the ice was breaking and Astrid was smiling at him, whispering softly in his ear –

“Took you long enough, you idiot.” And then she was kissing him… only this was less of a dream and more of a memory, because when Hiccup woke up he realized that – hey – he actually _had_ , finally, gathered up the courage to ask Astrid if she’d like to go see a football game with him, and she’d said yes and kissed him…

He blushed in the dark of his room, remembering the feeling of her lips on his and, really, he might dream of a girl on fire, but Astrid was _real_ and she knew his name and she kissed him, and she was just so _solid_.

Astrid didn’t seem as though she might fly away like smoke on the wind.

So he put all thoughts of that girl with bright, laughing blue eyes – _Merida,_ whispered something in the recesses of his mind – and he’d throw himself into his life because _this_ … this was real. And he loved it.

He threw off his blankets and pulled on his prosthetic – he was actually kind of getting used to it now – and slunk through the house to the garage to tinker with _Toothless_. The bike sat there, sleek and shining, and Hiccup murmured to it like a real, breathing creature. It almost felt like it, too, sometimes.

He imagined what it might be like, if his _Ruthless – Toothless – Dragon_ really was a flying fire-breathing reptile, with the wind in his hair, and the earth spinning away far beneath his toes. In the air, it wouldn’t matter that he only had one leg. It wouldn’t matter what he looked like, because there’d be no one else around to judge him – only the sun and the wind and his dragon.

 _That_ would be freedom. That would be the perfect release.

Racing was the next best thing.

In the dark of the night there weren’t many other vehicles around, and so Hiccup just rode through the night, not really going anywhere, but somehow finding himself everywhere, and all the little lights were like stars, so he imagined that he was flying in the night sky, surrounded by inky blackness and little fires.

He found himself, somehow, sitting outside Astrid’s house, looking up at her window and remembering how she’d kissed him that first time, a few weeks ago.

So he texted her –

_  
_

_I’m outside your house._

_What? Why? You’re such a berk._

_Is it a bad thing if I ask you to come down and kiss me?_

_…_

_Just to make sure that you’re real._

_  
_

 

She dashed down the stairs, still in her pyjamas, looking rumpled and grumpy and _gorgeous_ , with her arms crossed over her chest – _don’t even go there, Haddock. She can kill you, remember_ – and she was glaring at him through the moonlit haze of night.

Then she punched him.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For waking me up, obviously,” she rolled her eyes, and then she snatched at the front of his jacket and pulled him closer, kissing him until he wasn’t quite sure which way was up, or where the ground was, and he may or may not have been flying among the stars and it was almost – almost – like being a dragon, feeling strong and daring and alive.

“What was that for?” He breathed, blinking his eyes open, and she was standing there, looking crooked and careless and as beautiful as anything he’d ever seen.

“You’re a berk,” she whispered, “but you’re a romantic berk. You get points for that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


	3. ... and all the rubs of genius cease to count...

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.

.

 _the human body's a barometer_  
_measuring the density of angels_  
_and all the rubs of genius cease to count_

_._

_._

_._

 

“I don’t know how you do it.”

Elsa stifled a scream and looked up, gasping in relief when she saw her sort-of-boyfriend sitting above the doorway. She shouldn’t have been startled, really, but she was still getting used to Jack’s… _enthusiastic_ methods of courtship.

He jumped off the windowsill above the door of the studio with the grace of a cat and a Cheshire grin to match, twisting to face her with a too-innocent twinkle in his bright blue eyes. Elsa shifted on her feet and clutched the strap of her bag.

“Do what?” She asked, since he seemed to be waiting for her to continue the conversation.

“Everything,” Jack shrugged, and Elsa rolled her eyes.

“This conversation has become vague,” she murmured, walking past him towards the train station.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Jack jogged to catch up with her, his long strides eating up the space between them until he was entirely too close and she wasn’t entirely uncomfortable with his closeness.

“I’m not sure that I do.”

Jack dropped an arm around her shoulders and smirked at the eyebrow she raised in response. “Of course you do – dancing for eight billion hours a week until your feet fall off, studying the commerce textbooks until your eyeballs fall out, nagging your sister until your tongue just stops working…”

“It’s a wonder I have any body parts left at all,” Elsa deadpanned.

Jack just laughed.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, snagging her by the elbow and drawing her to a halt. Elsa tried to ignore the light tickle of his fingers on her skin, the way her body shivered in response to more than just the wind on the sweat of her neck, and the way that Frost smelled faintly of vanilla (probably from the ice cream whose wrapper she could see sticking out of his pocket).

Jack’s bright white-toothed smile was entirely too knowing, Elsa thought.

“You just work so hard,” he murmured, stepping closer, until Elsa could see nothing but him and his Cheshire grin and bright blue eyes. “You don’t have any time to relax. No time for _you._ ” _No time for_ me _,_ went unspoken, but Elsa saw it in the sad softening of his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she told him shortly.

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Elsa shut him up with a kiss.

Short and sweet, it lasted only moments, but it did the job, and when she pulled back he was gaping like a goldfish.

“Come on,” she linked her arm with his and began walking towards the train station. “You can walk me home and tell me all about your day.”

“ _That_ is totally cheating,” he told her when he recovered the sense to speak.

“Hardly,” she retorted, glancing at him sidelong. “I’m just using my feminine wiles to my advantage – nothing wrong with that.”

“Like I said; cheating.”

“If you don’t like it…”

Jack kissed her, right in the middle of the train station, while some old man behind muttered grumpily about _kids-these-days_ and then the rest of the world faded out of focus. She was right – he _had_ been eating an ice cream – and then he pulled away, his cheeks tinted red and eyes shining and looking _very_ pleased with himself.

“Cheater,” she murmured, but there was no heat to her voice (there never was) and he grinned because he knew he’d won.

“How’s Anna?” He asked as they stepped onto the train, his arm curled protectively around her waist. “Still dating Kris Kringle?”

“Kristoph,” Elsa corrected. “And yes, she is.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you?”

Elsa sighed. “You _know_ how she is. She’s so easily distracted–”

“Not like you,” Jack pouted.

“– she doesn’t concentrate on her studies. Romance is a fine thing, but it’s not worth her throwing her whole future away.”

“Would you choose your future over me?” Jack asked, not looking her in the eye.

Elsa fiddles with her scarf.

“I’d hoped you’d be part of my future,” she admitted.

“But if you had to choose–”

“ _Jack._ ”

He shrugged, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’d want you to choose your future, too,” he admitted. “You’re too good to give up your life for me.”

She rolls her eyes and kisses him again. “You’re overthinking things. We’re together, _now_. We’ll deal with the future when it comes.”

“Anna, too?”

Elsa chuckled. “I’ll always take care of Anna. I just wish she’d take care of herself.”

“She will,” Jack nodded. “She takes after her sister.”

Elsa pursed her lips and appraised him for a moment. And then:

"Walk me home?" she asked. 

Jack beamed. 

"Of course." 

**Author's Note:**

> The story title comes from the song 'No Rest' by Dry the River. 
> 
> The first chapter title comes from Peter Porter's poem, _In Paradisum_ , and the story is a continuation of the idea that I had in _How Still I'd Been Before_.


End file.
